Dynamic
by AquilaKate
Summary: One-shots showing the family side of Graceland, both good times and bad.
1. Who's Turn is it To Pick Up the Kids?

**Disclaimer: Not mine, really it's not.**

Charlie knows better than to assume that the rest of her housemates will find their way home safely.

There have been _incidents_ in the past. A bar brawl that left Johnny in a holding cell and Paige with a broken hand. Jakes and Briggs like to think they're more responsible than the others, but they have no one to blame for that time they lost the Jeep in a game of Texas Hold 'Em but themselves. This is not to say that Charlie doesn't have her own fair share of past indiscretions under her belt. She has just as much fun in Graceland as the next drunken federal agent. But she's an angel compared to the others…

Which is why she starts to get restless when they stay out past last call on the night after a rough case. Because if it's not alcohol keeping them at The Drop, it's trouble.

Granted, it could be nothing. They could be holed up in the bar, with their respective distractions for the evening or with each other at a corner table, dragging out their final sips and trying not to think about the debriefing they'll have to attend in the morning. Either way, Charlie is just too _tired_ to go down there and find out. Almost twelve straight hours in a stuffy surveillance van on a scorching southern California day will do that to a person.

Luckily, she's not alone.

"Paul?"

* * *

There's something in Charlie's tone when she says his name that has him inwardly cringing. He knows that voice. She wants him to do something, and nothing pleasant. He's sure of it. "Yeah, Char?"

"Go get them."

It's convincingly veiled as a request, but Paul can spot the order through the deceptively pleading, hesitant tone. She already knows he's going to do it. They both do. But he'd like to be able to say that he gave a convincing argument in his favor. So he sits up further and eyes her sternly, ignoring her amused smirk for the sake of his pride.

"They don't need me to drag them home," he says firmly. "They're big kids."

Charlie nods, but Briggs isn't quite sure what the point is because she's certainly not _agreeing_ with him. "They're gonna be out all night," she sighs. "And Paul, I _really_ need some sleep."

"We could just go to bed, you know," he says wistfully, tossing an arm over her shoulder. "Pretend like we don't care what time they stumble through the door."

She shrugs. "We could."

They actually can't. At least, not after a day like this. Even Dale _"this-is-just-a-damn-house-we're-not-a-family-now- leave-me-alone"_ Jakes won't be able to settle in until everyone's back in their own beds.

"They had hard day. Worse than ours was," Charlie says lightly, again trying for conversational and ending up with something a little _too_ innocent sounding. Briggs is, of course, suspicious.

"They did," he admits.

"Mikey saw one of our FBI guys get shot."

"He did."

"Paige had every scumbag in that place all over her."

"She did."

"Johnny got himself a pretty impressive shiner."

"He did."

It's silent for a minute or two, while Briggs processes the fact that he just lost this passive little argument. He never entertained the delusion that it would turn out any other way, but it still stings. _Damnit_, he's tired. Why does he have to care so much? Sometimes it sucks being one of the good guys.

"They're grown adults," he tries finally, weakly. "They know when it's time to come home."

Charlie gets a satisfied little grin on her face that Briggs can't be too irritated with. She can hear the defeat in his voice, and he's sure that it's music to her evil little ears. His arm flops to his side when she slips out from under it to lean against the other arm of the couch, and he wakes up a little from the loss of her warmth. "Yeah," she whispers, chuckling slightly under her breath. "But we know _better_."

* * *

The Drop is fairly crowded for as late as it is, but Briggs spots his housemates easily. Johnny's in the corner with a swarm of attractive women fawning over his injury like it's a cracked skull instead of a black eye. It's hard to tell because her face is obscured by her hair and her new friend's _face_, but he's pretty sure the woman in the blonde surfer's lap is Paige. At least Mike's behaving. The kid's leaning against the bar, nursing his last drink, with his eyes glued to the corner of the bar and that amused little smirk that he tends to wear on his lips. Paul claps a hand on his shoulder from behind and gets a little too much satisfaction from the resulting jump. "They ditch you, Mikey?"

"They hung in there for a little while," he laughs, swigging the rest of his drink. "But I wasn't much fun after Abby left."

Ahh, east coast girl. Another headache waiting to happen. "I hear ya. Listen, go pry Johnny away from his adoring fans. I'll grab Paige."

Mike winces, staring at the other side of the bar, where blonde surfer dude's hand is slowly migrating towards Paige's ass. "I think that guy beat you to it."

There's a group gathered around the pool table that he has to wade through to get to his roommate, and by the time he makes it to the other side, he's had enough alcohol spilled on him to restock the bar. It makes him a little testy, so when he finally reaches the young love birds, all he can do is clear his throat pointedly. Paige rolls one eye in his direction, but then goes back to what she's doing without saying a word. He clears his throat again. Nothing. Finally, Briggs taps her shoulder, and Paige sighs as she leans back, one hand automatically trying to flatten her hair.

"Come on, Cinderella," he says, groaning dramatically as he helps her onto her feet. "Got to get you back to the house before your fairy godcharlie comes down here and turns your friend in to a pumpkin."

Because Paige knows that Charlie will remove her new boy-toy's hands from both her body and his, and Johnny wasn't actually planning on going home with any of those women _tonight_ ("Sometimes you just gotta plant the seed and leave it to grow, you know? Next time she sees me, she'll think of tonight and won't be able to control herself."), they're all pretty agreeable when Briggs says it's time to go home.

They take the beach route home because Paige can no longer balance on her heels and it's better to walk barefoot on sand than pavement. Everything goes somewhat smoothly until Johnny makes a dash for the ocean and the others follow, splashing and jumping on each other like little drunken puppies. Briggs sighs. Smiles. Nods awkwardly to the other late night beach goers who are watching his friends like they're the uncoordinated, unruly version of Cirque du Soleil. He lets it go on for a few more yards until Mike attempts a dive into the shallow waves and comes up spitting sand and salt. Then, he leads a sulking line of federal agents up the beach to walk near the rocks, Paige's heels swinging from his hand.

Water pools on the kitchen tiles as the three younger agents towel off. Mike is completely drenched, with sand sticking to his skin, but Paige is only damp, and her hair is completely dry. Johnny was somewhere in the middle until he jumps on Mike, intent on finishing a playful fight they started on the beach and soaking himself in the process.

"Hey," Briggs scolds. "Knock it off. We have a debriefing tomorrow. It's time to call it a night."

But he's not quick enough because the two younger agents are already hyping themselves up again, sliding on the wet floor and bumping into furniture. Paige watches gleefully.

They move into the living room, where Charlie is still waiting up, chatting with Jakes, who has finally made an appearance. The wrestling match takes center stage, but doesn't distract Charlie from the state of their clothing.

"Why are they wet?" She demands, gesturing towards the grown males rolling on the floor trying to pin each other. He's pretty sure this was not his fault, so Briggs throws his hands up helplessly and collapses onto the empty couch. His eyes flicker closed for a minute, concealing the _"I gave you one job_" look that he's sure she's sending towards him. When he opens them again, Charlie seems to have moved on and is now focused on their other roommates.

She rolls her eyes and listens to them talk over one another, going on about how Paige went shot for shot with an off-duty bartender and earned all three of them more drinks than they could afford on a government salary. The champion in question is crawling up on the couch between Charlie and Jakes. At this point, she's bordering on sloppy affectionate, Paige's default setting on the rare occasions when she allows herself to get legitimately intoxicated. But while Jakes grumbles and gently slaps her hands away, Charlie grins and tucks the younger woman under her arm. "Did everyone have fun tonight?" she asks, though it's pretty obvious that they did.

"Hell yeah," Johnny sings, gaining some leverage on Mike and using it to pin him to the floor. "I'm thinking of making this black eye permanent, it was really working for me tonight."

"I can help you with that," Jakes offers sincerely, while Mike works on pushing Johnny off of him and peeling himself up off the floor to receive simultaneous high-fives from Paige and Charlie.

"Nice," Briggs praises. "Battle wound a hit with the ladies, Johnny?"

Paige snorts. "He had willing amateur nurses all over him. They just wanted to make it _all better_," she coos through her chuckles. "It was touching, really."

There's a Johnny-shaped wet spot left on the carpet when he sits up to swat Paige's leg in retaliation, and Briggs eyes it in irritation. The kid's lucky he's injured.

"How'd you explain the black eye?" Jakes asks because the truth was clearly out of the question. The bright-eyed, smug look that falls across Johnny's face tells the rest of them that it was a particularly effective lie.

"Motorcycle accident."

"Because you're a tough guy," Charlie adds slowly, waiting for the kicker.

Johnny grins. "I swerved to miss a dog."

"Because he's so sensitive," Paige sings. By now, he's leaning against her legs on the floor in front of her, so she has to bend in half so her lips can brush against his forehead. Johnny sputters and Paige cackles. "Get off me, woman! You still have surf jerk germs all over you."

This piques Charlie's interest and she sits up a little further. "Someone I should hear about?"

Paige groans. "You should have seen him, Charlie. Hottest guy I've seen in that place in weeks. And just when we were about to go back to his place, Johnny goes all big brother on him."

"He was wearing a puka shell necklace," Johnny whines. "I was only thinking of your reputation."

The others probably can't tell, but Briggs can detect the slight smile on Charlie's face while she's lecturing Johnny on minding his own business. She's got a secret soft spot for her roommates looking out for each other. Speaking of, Briggs has a not-so-secret soft spot for getting more than an hour of sleep before being dealing with some FBI bureaucrat who's questioning his case management, and he's not going to get it with these knuckleheads down here goofing off all night.

"Agent Mike Warren," he says mock seriously, identifying the least drunk of the bunch. "I have an assignment for you."

Mike looks at him, surprised, and straightens like he thinks Briggs is about to send him on an actual mission. "Sir?"

"A protection detail," Briggs says, nodding. He kicks at Johnny and nudges Paige to her feet. "Get these two up the stairs without incident. Any injuries are on your head."

There's some chattering over that, from Paige who wobbles and insists she can make it up to her room on her own, from Johnny who wants to see if Mike can carry him, and from Mike who doesn't want to be responsible for either of them. Jakes takes pity on him and prods Johnny up the stairs ahead of him, leaving Mike to wrangle Paige.

Once again, Charlie and Briggs are left alone in the living room.

"Thank you," Charlie says genuinely, as she teasingly tries to tug him off the couch.

Briggs grumbles and stands, letting her pull him behind her as she heads for the stairs. "Anything else you want me to do? Make sure they brush their teeth? Tuck them in?"

"Paul…"

"I'll go up there and read them a bedtime story if that's what you want, Char."

He dodges her swat and goes to his own room, where he lays in bed and waits for the quiet to signal that the others have settled in.

In reality, if Charlie hadn't asked him to do it, he would have made an excuse to go get them anyway. Because after days like today, there's nothing he likes better than coming home to Graceland with the rest of his merry band of misfits in tow.

* * *

**AN: I only have three or four of these planned out, but if you have something you'd like to see, let me know and I'll give it shot. :)**


	2. Don't Tell Your Mother

"Think hard, Mikey. This one's tricky."

Mike's eyes follow the contours of his housemate's legs up to her hemline, as Paige twirls on her heels. He focuses on the fabric at her hip for a minute before completing his scan and groaning, reaching up to massage his temples. "I don't know. I really don't."

"Try," Charlie urges, eyes sparkling from where she's reclined against Paige's headboard. "Come on. Rebelling socialite or pricey hooker?"

Eyes closed. Deep breath. He takes another look. The material lays flat against the top of her thighs, leaving her legs mostly bare. The neckline dips indecently low, and Mike focuses on pulling his eyes up to her shoulders, where thin purple straps press tight against her skin. "The prostitute?"

Paige blinks.

"Okay, is he doing this on purpose?" she asks, whirling to face the other woman with wide, disbelieving eyes.

Shaking her head and smiling fondly, Charlie sits up and gently raps her knuckles on the side of Mike's head. "Have a little more patience with him," she chides, before turning to the rookie. "And you. No one says 'prostitute'."

She crooks a finger, and Paige obeys, moving to stand at the edge of the bed so Charlie can fuss with the beading on the edge of the top. After a pointed deep breath, Paige meets his eyes and smiles with exaggerated patience. "Look at the fabric," she orders, plucking at the skirt. "It's _tight_, not _clingy_."

"Means it's expensive," Charlie clarifies, winking and knotting a loose string before nudging Paige towards closet. "Go change. We'll try 'broke grad student or junkie' next."

All three heads turn when they hear a knock, but Jakes doesn't wait for a response before entering, nose buried in a case file. "Paige, didn't you bust this guy for possession a while back?"

She takes the file to look over, but now, Jakes is more interested in what was happening before he entered. "What are you doing to him?" he groans.

"Teaching him a valuable undercover skill," Charlie says innocently, but it's pretty evident that she's trying to suppress a chuckle. Jakes rolls his eyes and snatches both his file and their rookie and drags them both out of the room.

"What is wrong with you?" he hisses, tucking the file under his arm. "Why didn't you yell for help?"

Mike blinks. "I didn't realize I needed it."

There's a burst of laughter from Paige's room, and he starts to realize that maybe this was more of a fashion show than an undercover lesson. Embarrassment creeps up on him, and Jakes claps a supportive hand on his shoulder. "Happens to the best of us, kid. Now, go tell Briggs we need a boys' night out, and I might not tell Johnny I caught you playing dress up with Charlie and Paige."

* * *

He's not sure what he expected from boys' night out, but it wasn't a trip to The Drop, like every other night that week. But even so, Mike allows himself to be led to a corner table, while Johnny wanders up to the bar to order what he calls "manly drinks". When he returns, he shoves a glass of something that smells like paint thinner and probably doesn't taste much better into Mike's hands. Mike tries a sip and makes a face before setting the glass just out of arm's reach, so he doesn't habitually pick it up and actually have to _taste_ it again. Johnny rubs his hands together in anticipation. "You got them?"

Smirking, Briggs nods and pulls a deck of cards out of his coat pocket and slaps them on the table, right in the center. Poker? That's what they're so excited about?

"Winner drinks for free."

The others are looking at him with varying degrees of smug giddiness, probably certain that they were about to hustle the rookie. Joke's on them. He can't wait to see their reaction to being pulverized by the best player at Quantico _and_ his college fraternity. But instead of dealing a standard Poker hand, Briggs breaks the deck into four parts and passes one pile to each of them. Mike blinks, confused.

A quick glance through the cards tells him that they're all of one suit. Clubs, all thirteen cards, ace through king with everything in between. "What do you want me to do with these?" he asks, mentally scrolling through every card game he's ever played and coming up empty for one that started like this.

Briggs grins. "Get rid of them."

He nods towards Johnny, who flips the top card of his own stack into his hand and takes a long swig of his beer before getting up from the table. Mike watches uneasily as the other man makes his way to the other side of the bar, card hidden in his palm as he approaches an attractive blonde at the bar. From the barstool next to her, Johnny wraps an arm around her waist and leans in to mumble something in her ear. Something flattering if her face is any indication, because she gives him a wide, sparkling smile and gestures for his arm. When Johnny stands up, he flashes them a cocky grin and holds up his arm to display both the phone number written on his forearm and his empty hand. Eyes narrowed, Mike stares back curiously. "Where did-?"

The woman gets up from her seat, and as she walks in the other direction, the top edge of a Two of hearts is barely visible, sticking out of her back pocket.

Mike chuckles nervously_. This can only end badly._

"You expect me to..." he says slowly, as Johnny returns to the table, waving his clasped hands in the universal sign for victory. Briggs nods, seeming pleased to have thrown him off kilter. "Reverse pickpocketing. Give them away, any way that you can."

He takes one of his own cards and slaps Mike on the back on his way by. The others watch as he strikes up a conversation with one of the guys at the pool table. They must find something in common because they chat easily, like normal, casual acquaintances. When the other man goes to line to up his next shot, Briggs nabs his wallet from the edge of the table and holds it up for the others to see as he slips a card of his own suit, diamonds, into one of the credit card slots. He puts it back, and his new friend, who is none the wiser, shakes his hand good naturedly before returning to his game.

Applause welcomes him back to the table, and Briggs sinks into a playful bow before retaking his seat. "You ready for this, Agent Warren?" he asks, holding a card out for him to take. Mike just drains the rest of the poison that Johnny brought him and nods, taking the card and sauntering up to the bar. He gestures for the bartender to give him a refill, of something a little smoother this time. The drink goes on his tab, but he hands her a wad of folded bills as a tip. She smiles and tucks the money into her apron pocket, never noticing the folded Ace of clubs hidden among the cash. But Briggs and the others do, and their laughing approval makes this seem like a much better idea than it really is.

Soon enough, their entire deck has disappeared into various bags and pockets, and Mike should really _not_ be feeling as accomplished as he does right now. Until he realizes that they've all gotten rid of the same amount of cards, and there is seemingly no winner. When he brings it up, the others smirk, and he realizes that he's about to be taken for another twist.

"Game's not over, Mikey," Johnny says cheerfully as his blonde from the bar passes by their table. He reaches out and carefully plucks his Two from her pocket, slamming it down in front of his drink and starting the count. "One."

Mike groans.

* * *

"Charlie's gonna kill us," Johnny sighs fondly, eyes on Mike as he anxiously circles the woman with his Queen in her waistband. "She hates it when we play this."

"Doesn't just hate it," Briggs corrects. He's swirling what's left of his drink in the bottom of the glass, watching the scene unfold before him. When Mike boldly stashed the Queen earlier that night, the woman had been alone, with just a female coworker for company. But now, her very large boyfriend is hovering over her shoulder, his massive hand inches away from the playing card on the small of her back. "Forbids it."

She'd put a moratorium on the game after Donny got caught trying to retrieve his card from a female MMA fighter's purse and received the most arousing beating of his life. But since she's not here to stop it…

Johnny groans. "Are you serious, man?" he hisses. "I'm not going down for this. This was your idea. Now that I think about it, I'm not even sure I was here."

"Relax," Jakes laughs, shuffling his cards and searching the room for the man carrying the Ace that he hadn't retrieved yet. "How's she ever going to find out?"

But the others aren't laughing because behind his back, the boyfriend has noticed Mike's attention on his girlfriend's waist and grabbed him by the throat, bending him back over the bar. Johnny frowns. "Like that."

Briggs sighs and rolls his eyes towards the ceiling, already on his feet, ready to provide back up. "Gentlemen," he deadpans. "It's been nice knowing you."

* * *

Johnny goes in first because _someone_ needs to scout out the first floor of the house, and with Mike out of commission, he's got the least seniority. There's no hiding the bruises on their youngest agent's neck for long in sunny southern California, where turtlenecks are most certainly _not_ the norm. But, if they can get him out the door the next morning before Charlie has a chance to see him, they can pass it off as a case related injury and be home free. Paul's knuckles are another story, but as Zen as he claims to be, Paul hits people on a pretty regular basis. So, no red flags there.

Their spy returns to report that both women are asleep on the couch, a Discovery Channel documentary on designer drugs still playing on the television. This is to their advantage, as the noise will provide them with enough audio cover to slip into the kitchen and get an ice pack and painkillers for Mike, before retreating up the stairs into their rooms.

In theory, that is.

In actuality, Johnny trips over the abandoned remote and startles Paige, who instantly begins to stir. From behind him, Briggs shoves him towards the others and drops to his knees next to a yawning Paige.

"Shhh…" he urges, waving for Jakes to help Mike up the stairs as fast as he possibly can. "Go back to sleep."

She looks at him oddly before glancing over his shoulder and catching a glimpse of the ring around Mikey's neck. "What the _hell_-?"

"_Shhhh!" _Briggs hisses, glancing nervously towards the other end of the couch, where Charlie is still sleeping. "We played cards, and things got a little out of hand. Now, quiet. Before you wake Charlie."

He notices a little spark that lights up her face as she realizes how much power she's just stumbled into. Her lips tilt upward slightly as she presses her shoulders back and looks him in the eye, almost giddy that she once again has the upper hand. Paul sighs and cuts to the chase. "What's this going to cost me?"

As she stretches easily, feigning nonchalance, her neck twists and her eyes fall pointedly on the chore wheel.

That wasn't so bad. A week of extra chores? Nothing compared to what Charlie was sure to unleash if this incident even made its way to her ears. "Done," he says, sighing in relief.

Paige shakes her head and smiles. Holds up her hand with all five fingers stretched out and wiggling. He catches them with a focused stare and folds four of them back down. Immediately, three pop up, but her thumb stays down. Deadlocked.

After a few minutes of intense, silent staring, he presses her pinky to her palm. She nods, still smirking.

Three weeks of her chores. Not terrible, considering he has the manpower for it. One each for Johnny and Jakes. Maybe he'll take the third one himself and let Levi off the hook.

He settles between them on the couch, Charlie still dozing and Paige curled up on her side, watching the rest of the documentary with her head resting on the arm of the couch.

His knuckles are throbbing and Paige's sharp toes are digging into his thigh. But his rookie did a good job tonight. Made him proud. And they got some male bonding time in, with a bar fight as an added bonus. _So, overall, the night hasn't been a total lose._ Briggs glances to his left, where his friend is still snoring.

_Just as long as no one tells Charlie._


	3. Taking a Sick Day

He's already slept through his morning run, and if that isn't a sign of a bad day to come, he doesn't know what is.

When he first hit the snooze button, Mike was pretty sure that it was just a restless night's sleep and a late night with Johnny at the bar that was keeping him in bed. But when he's a little more coherent about an hour later, he realizes that there are other symptoms that aren't related to sleep deprivation at all. Sore throat, congestion, and a pounding headache that won't go away even when he turns the alarm off.

Badass federal agent Mike Warren is taking a sick day.

And he's sort of dreading it. Unlike every other sane, working individual, Mike _lives_ with his coworkers. And there's no one he'd like to avoid more when he's not at his best than his coworkers.

However, on the way down the stairs the next morning, he discovers that he's not alone.

Johnny is prone on the couch, moaning loudly into a throw pillow. Feeling too miserable to be too concerned for others at the moment, Mike nods at Jakes (who seems healthy, sitting in an armchair and bemusedly watching Johnny's dramatics) and moves into the kitchen, mostly ignoring the scene in the living room.

Mostly.

"Johnny's dying," he announces to anyone who's listening, which turns out to be just Charlie. Paige is perched precariously on a barstool, looking miserable with a thermometer between her lips and Briggs hovering at her shoulder. Mike grabs a bottle of water from the fridge, and when the ache in his throat doesn't clear after he takes a swallow, he winces. "Maybe I am, too."

Briggs takes a long look at him and nods. "That seems to be the theme of the morning."

"Suck it up, Levi," Paige teases hoarsely, before Briggs pops the thermometer back in her mouth and pokes the side of her head. "Start over. Again."

"They've been at it all morning," Charlie whispers when she comes to rest a hand on Mike's forehead, smiling fondly, like she wouldn't expect anything else. Louder, for all three of them to hear, she says, "Comes in threes, I guess. Can't any of you keep your germs to yourself?"

Paige looks like she's going to whip the thermometer of her mouth again and defend herself, but a stern look from Briggs keeps it place. When it finally beeps, he takes it before she can and holds it out for Charlie to see.

"Sorry, sunshine," Briggs says, nudging her off the stool. "Looks like you're taking a sick day."

What happens next is an intense staring match that Mike doesn't quite understand the significance of, but eventually culminates in Paige doing what Paige does best (which is whatever the hell Paige wants to do) and grabbing her bag and keys off the counter, prepared to go to work.

Charlie heads her off at the door, wrapping a soothing/restraining arm around her shoulder and steering her towards the living room. "Go," she orders. "Wait with Johnny. I'll be there in a minute."

Paige stares back like she wants to argue, but Charlie stands her ground.

"You're cases can wait," she says firmly.

Paige goes (because no one argues with Charlie), but does so grumpily, with heavy footfalls and pointed sighs.

"Ahh, the teenage years," Briggs laments, ignoring Charlie's shove to his shoulder and failed attempts to shush him through her quiet laughter. "I miss our little girl, Char."

He wipes fake tears from his eyes, and Charlie rolls hers. "At least we still have our little Mikey," she supplies, playing along and teasingly pinching at Mike's cheeks. He squirms away, but she must have felt the heat there because she's suddenly not so playful.

"Speaking of," she sighs. "What are we gonna do with you, huh?"

He smiles widely, trying not to look as pathetic as he feels, but Charlie sees right through it and chuckles sadly. "Ahh, the face," she moans. "It kills me. Go, get out of my sight. Claim some couch space."

Like Paige, he obeys, but shuffles obediently without the theatrics.

Maybe there's a little more to sick days in Graceland than he thought.

* * *

Charlie moans and rests her forehead against his shoulder.

"Gonna be a long day," she sighs, and Briggs smiles, patting the back of her head sympathetically. "Long week," he corrects. "Or more."

There's an unintelligible, disgruntled sound that's muffled by his shoulder, before Charlie reappears, rubbing her eyes. "They're terrible patients."

Briggs nods, trying to remember times that they've been sick in the past. "Johnny whines," he says. "And Paige is just a brat. What about Mike?"

"I bet Mikey's a trooper," Charlie decides, after considering it for a minute.

He grins. "Always is."

Craning her neck to see into the living room, Charlie chuckles. "Look how sad," she says, nodding towards the pile of miserable agents on the couch. "Remind me of this later today, when I'm ready to kill them."

"You're not gonna care how cute they are when they're asking for twenty different kinds of popsicles."

"You don't know that," she defends. "I'm very patient."

There's a commotion coming from the living room, which makes them turn back just in time to see Jakes snatching the television remote out of Mike's hand and the FBI agent's pitiful attempt to recover it. Charlie sighs, and her eyes automatically follow Mike's hand as it grasps at air in front of him and comes up empty. When Paige tries to come to his defense, Jakes steps back another foot, and she tires out and nuzzles back against Johnny's side.

"_Chaaarlie_!"

Briggs allows his grin to stretch even wider across his face, even though Charlie looks like she's considering smashing her fist through the center of it. "No one is that patient."

"Laugh now," she grumbles, "but don't expect any sympathy from me when it's your turn."

He shrugs and turns his back to her to pull open the drawer next to the sink. From under the assorted junk surfaces an orange envelope that's been addressed to Briggs and saved for a special occasion. The look that Charlie gets when she realizes that he has _another_ ace up his sleeve is one of his favorites, and he's treated to a flash of it when he presents the envelope to her with a flourish.

"What?" she asks suspiciously when he pushes it into her hands. "What is it?"

"Why don't you open it and find out?"

She does. And the look of horror on her face will stick with him for a good, long time. "You're going for a psych eval?" she asks, jaw tight with disbelief. "Today?"

"I'm damaged, Chuck," he says somberly.

She blinks.

"I will damage you," she promises, voice dropping to that low, dangerous place. "And I won't even regret it."

_Maybe she should go for a psych eval, too. _

"This is-what? Your first since you've been in Graceland? You're not fooling anyone!"

Snagging his keys off the counter, he slowly backs away from her, hoping to disappear before the reality of a day spent mothering their whiny coworkers without him really hits home. "You're lack of concern for my emotional well-being really hurts. I'm going to go cry about it in the car because…"

"You're damaged," Charlie finishes, shaking her head, her lips so tight that they've almost vanished.

Briggs winks, claps a hand over his heart, and slams the door behind him. From the other side, he can just make out the sound of Johnny's voice, hoarse and muffled by congestion.

"_Chaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarlie!"_

* * *

No one's willing to say with a hundred percent certainty that it's just a sore throat and not a stomach bug that's going around, so Charlie figures they're safest with toast until they figure it out. Wheat for Paige and Mike, white for Johnny, and nothing for Jakes who is neither sick nor helpful. He smiles widely at her when she comes in to deliver the plates, and she steps on his foot in return.

Because she is Charlie DeMarco and she doesn't have to put up with his shit.

Mike starts to devour his without hesitation, but the others are stalling for whatever reason, so she aims her narrowed eyes over her shoulder on her way out and demands that their plates be clean before she gets back. She's wrapping up the cord from the toaster and enjoying the first five minutes of alone time that she's had all day, when Jakes comes in to return two out the three plates she's just distributed. She has a pretty good idea who they belong to.

"Johnny wants peanut butter on his," Jakes says, smiling at her like he can't wait to see how she's going to react to this.

Charlie hates to disappoint him, but it's not an unreasonable request, so she takes the plate and starts to rummage through the cabinet for a jar of peanut butter. "What does Paige want?" she asks absently, trying to remember if Johnny prefers smooth or chunky.

"Um, to not eat it."

"She's going to be disappointed, then."

There's no hiding the gleeful look on Jakes' face at the prospect of Charlie chewing out one of his housemates, so he owns up to it and politely carries both plates back into the living room, with an extra spring in his step. Shaking her head, Charlie follows behind him. _Really? This is what it takes to get an extra hand around here?_

As expected, Mike has _not_ been a problem child like the others and has placed his empty plate on the coffee table before settling in to watch TV. Next to him, Johnny has managed to sit up and wait for his breakfast, and his moaning has subsided into pitiful sniffles that remind Charlie why she's playing mama bear instead of riding this illness out at the beach, blissfully unconcerned about her housemate's comfort. Paige is resting her head on Johnny's legs, leaning into his warm hand on her shoulder, eyes shut tight to block out the light coming in through the glass walls.

"Toast with peanut butter," she announces, sitting on the coffee table and holding the plate out for Johnny to take. The goofy grin on his face as he digs into his perfected toast makes it worth it. Charlie takes one look at Paige and loses all resolve to force the breakfast issue and instead rests her palm on the other agent's head, feeling for a fever and trying to get her attention. "Can't do it, huh?"

There's faint movement under her hand that might be Paige trying to shake her head, and Charlie winces. "That's okay," she says softly.

Mike is watching them closely, with his forehead creased in concern, and it's just so _Mikey_ that Charlie can't help but smile. She nods to let him know that everything's okay, moving to feel his forehead too because she doesn't entirely trust that he'll tell her If he gets worse.

"How was your toast?" she asks, throwing the kid a bone by acknowledging that he actually did what he was supposed to when his coworkers hadn't.

"Excellent," he says, smirking. Charlie rolls her eyes because it was just _toast_ and sometimes the rookie is such a charmer. She pats his knee, playfully flicks Johnny's head, and heads into the kitchen in search of some ibuprofen.

The medicine cabinet is a mess (she'd like to blame Johnny, but truthfully they all just sort of grab things and hope nothing falls out when they slam the door), but eventually she finds the jumbo bottle that she's looking for and twists open the cap.

"Johnny! What have I told you about putting the empty bottle back in the cabinet?"

"Briggs did it!"

While conveniently the only one not present to defend himself, Briggs most likely did _not_ do it. But either way, they could all probably use some, and Paige looks like she's about to keel over without it, so there's nothing to do but run out for more.

And leave her patients in the most capable hands available.

"I'm going to go get something to bring those fevers down," she sighs, planting her sunglasses on her face. "Jakesy's here if you need anything."

Jakes glares back at her before turning to intimidate his charges. "Don't even think about needing anything."

"That's the spirit." Her words are light, but the accompanying warning look that she shoots from behind their patients' backs makes it very clear that everyone is to be taken care of in her absence, or there will be consequences. Reading her loud and clear, Jakes pointedly adjusts Paige's blanket so it covers her bare feet and smiles innocently back at her. Paige doesn't seem to register the movement, and Charlie frowns.

"Half an hour," she promises. "I just need everyone to survive the next half hour, then I'll be back."

With those rousing words of encouragement, she's out the door.

And almost immediately, it all goes to hell.

* * *

Apparently, Johnny and Mike had a little tiff at the bar the night before that basically boils down to Johnny meeting a hot girl and Mike refusing to sleep with her friend so Johnny could go home with the aforementioned hot girl.

And while this would normally be of great interest to Jakes, but they're arguing about it _loudly,_ and working themselves up, and keeping Paige awake, and DJ would really prefer to not _die_ when Charlie gets back and sees them like this.

"Hey!" he barks. "Knock it off!

Did they just ignore him? Seriously, they're still doing this?

"Hey!" he tries again, and this time they turn to face him, waiting. _That's better. _"She probably wasn't that hot," he says reasonably. "Now, lay down and go to sleep or something."

Except, Johnny has photographic proof that she was indeed _that hot_, and when he climbs over the back of the couch to get his phone, he accidentally overturns Mike's orange juice glass into his lap. Which does not make things better…

"Seriously, Johnny?" Mike complains, standing up and giving Jakes a good look at the orange juice stain on the couch that he's going to have to explain now. "Come on!"

"Your bad, Mikey," Johnny corrects. "Should have just agreed with me."

Instead of coming back at him (which Levi really needs to learn how to do), Mike just stomps up the stairs to get changed, leaving Johnny to sprawl out in his place, reclining in the orange juice stain without a care in the world.

Jakes sighs.

A sharp nail digs into his thigh, making him jump and swat Paige's hand away. "What?!"

"Shouldn't you be going to get that for him?" she croaks, eyes on the stairs where Mikey's just disappeared.

He narrows his eyes at her and tries to remember if she started sounding so sick on his watch or Charlie's because it sounds like a problem that he doesn't want to be his. "He has a sore throat, not an amputation. And are you gonna make it?"

She shrugs. "Hope so. Cross your fingers."

He will. Because the last thing he needs is Charlie coming home to a casualty.

There's a horrible hacking sound from the other side of the couch, and Jakes shuts his eyes tight, hoping to ignore the problem until it goes away. But, to no one's surprise, when he opens them again, Johnny is still coughing. Hard. To the point that his entire torso is being thrown from the force of his gasps.

"Stop that," Jakes commands sternly.

Paige's nail pricks him again, and he realizes he should probably do something. At this point, Mike has returned with dry clothes to discover his seat has been taken and is now standing next to the couch looking pissed off. "Hit him," Jakes orders.

Mike looks confused, but doesn't miss the opportunity and punches Johnny (who is still coughing) on the shoulder.

"On the back! What is wrong with you?"

With a little more force than is necessary, Mike slaps him on the back, finally understanding what he's supposed to be doing. Johnny continues to cough into his hands, unable to catch his breath.

He hears the door open and shut and Jakes hopes Charlie will make it quick, because after all he's been through in his lifetime, the last thing he deserves is a slow death. He closes his eyes again, and the coughing stops.

_Come on, man. Don't be dead._

He opens his eyes.

Johnny waves back at him, grinning around the rim of his fresh glass of water with Briggs at his side.

Jakes relaxes. He's been saved.

"What's going on in here?" Briggs asks, somehow managing to stare everyone in the room down at once. Johnny puts his water down and aims a hard punch at Mike's shoulder.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"You know what that was for. Really, man? I'm over there dying and you're just gonna hit me like that?"

"If you wouldn't have-"

Briggs catches both their shoulders, and instantly (miraculously) they stop. Jakes looks on in awe. Paul Briggs may just be a god.

"You," he says, pointing at Johnny and then to the other couch. "Over there."

When Johnny gets up to move to his new seating assignment, the large orange juice spot is revealed. Briggs stares at it for a moment before flipping the cushion and banishing it from their view. He seats Mike on top of it before taking one look at Paige and wincing. Kneeling next to the couch, he gently shakes her shoulder, only to discover that she's _not_ asleep, just really out of it.

"Come on, kid," he sighs, winding her arm around his neck. "Let's get you some peace and quiet."

He groans theatrically as he hoists her off the couch after disentangling her blanket from Mike's legs and throwing it over his shoulder. Mike waves, but Paige is too far gone to play along and just rests her head against Briggs' shoulder as he carefully maneuvers them up the stairs.

Johnny grins and raises his arms towards Jakes, who swats them back down. "Never," Jakes corrects sternly. "Not ever. Do you understand?"

The younger agent burrows back into the couch, looking discouraged, and Jakes awkwardly pats his foot and drops the remote down in front of him. Accepting it for the olive branch that it is, Johnny perks up and flips through the channels rapidly, pointedly pausing on some of Mike's favorites before flicking past them.

Jakes looks around the living room and smiles. Paul has Paige upstairs, Johnny is contentedly watching TV, and Mikey looks like he's just about to drift off.

He's pretty damn good at this babysitting thing.

Things are still going pretty well when Charlie gets home, loaded down with bags that are full of more than a bottle of pills. She puts them down in the kitchen before coming in to assess the state that her patients are in.

"There were three earlier," she deadpans, crossing her arms over her chest. "You lost one."

Jakes waves her off and shrugs. "Misplaced. Couldn't have gone too far."

"Paul took Paige upstairs because Johnny was being obnoxious," Mike says helpfully. Johnny sits up to retort, and they're off again.

Jakes salutes Charlie (who is a saint, a freakin' saint), and retreats to his room.

* * *

Later, when everyone is medicated and resting in their own beds, Charlie and Briggs sit in the counter like they tell others not to and eat ice cream straight out of the carton.

"You came back," Charlie hums contentedly around a bite of chocolate ice cream.

Briggs shrugs and steals the carton back from her. "Course I did, Chuck. Couldn't leave you here by yourself all day."

She stares knowingly back at him, smirking like she knows some big secret. "You didn't come back for me," she teases. "You were worried about our poor, sick babies."

Somehow, a glob of ice cream finds its way down the back of her shirt, and she shrieks, jumping down from the counter. Briggs laughs and hops down next to her, throwing his arm around her neck.

"I knew you had it under control."

Not a technically a denial, and Charlie's probably picked up on that. She'll tease him about it some other time, but for now it's late and they're both tired.

And they still have to check on the kids before they can finally put this sick day behind them.

* * *

**AN:**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed and followed the last couple chapters! You are guys are awesome and I'm so sorry that I've been so busy and haven't gotten to reply to you!  
**

**Not sure how this got to be so long...**


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